


Lunch At Goldsmiths

by daymunallbran



Category: Blur
Genre: Gramon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daymunallbran/pseuds/daymunallbran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon and Graham share lunch in Graham's dorm room, discussing Graham's progress as an artist. Things get emotional, and Damon realises they're growing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunch At Goldsmiths

**Author's Note:**

> First fic post, I'd love to hear feedback!

"Let's see it then."  
"S' not really that good yet, Daymun."  
"Nonsense... Why've you gotten so self conscious about your work nowadays, hm?"

The two boys sat adjacent to each other on Graham's dorm bed - they were sharing lunch, passing time with a meal, just like they had as kids. Graham's sketchbook was being held protectively in the brunet's lap while his friend, greenish blue eyes and soft smirk just as charming as ever, held out a hand, asking again to see the art. "It's this school, innit, all these pretentious twangers tellin' you your stuff isn't good enough," he nodded confidently, "Well, I 'ave news for them, and it's that you're a fuckin' brilliant artist."  
Damon never had to say those things. He never had to stick around like he did. Graham had partially expected Albarn to fade off into the abyss like all the other friends from school, but, oddly enough, the eccentric blond had remained like the only reliable pillar in his life. Realising this in the moment, Graham smiled softly to himself, scrunching his nose and shrugging a single shoulder. "N'alright, here." And just like that, he dispatched the sketchbook to his friend, who seized it immediately and gave Graham a cheeky, triumphant smirk before bowing his head down to pore through the pages.  
Everyone else usually flipped the pages quickly. Flip. Flip. Flip. But Damon lingered long enough on each page that Graham could see under the slight movements of Damon's dark eyelashes that the boy was actually taking the time to absorb each shitty drawing as if it were as complex as the Mona Lisa. As Graham split his attention for a moment to take a bite from his sandwich, brushing the crumbs from his lap, he missed the small smile that tugged at Damon's lips. "I like this one," he murmured, skimming a fingertip over a certain drawing. Graham craned his head to see and hummed back a small laugh. "S'my professor, he's a real prick," he explained.   
As Damon went through each page like he was reading a book, Graham took the time to admire the picturesque simplicity of his friend in peaceful repose. When the blond wasn't crooning song lyrics or stomping about like a character in a play, Damon was almost angelic in his serene states. The moment was like a French film, Graham thought to himself.  
"Well, I fink you're just as good, if not better, than when you left home." Damon lifted his chin to look at Graham, his eyes almost sparkling. "Y'know, it's weird, I miss you, even though I see you quite a lot, it's just... It's a-a-as if the memory of you is diff'rent. I can't go climbing into your room anymore. This isn't any Romania trip, either." The blond said the words calmly, not upset, or sad, just reflectively, with his chin in his hand as he watched his brown-eyed friend. "We're growing up, aren't we."

Graham was about to make a joke, but at Damon's last remark, it was difficult to remember what he was going to say. A pensive look softened Graham's features, and soon he was grabbing his sketchbook again, leafing through it for a few pages till he came to a blank one. Damon was quiet - he expected something from Graham, but didn't demand it. Graham liked that about him. "Here..." the brunet murmured as he began sketching away on the page. "This is us as kids... your awful hair... your stupid shoes..." The drawing continued. "As long as we've got this drawing, we can always remember us as kids, how's that," Graham suggested easily, tearing the page from his sketchbook. He hadn't heard anything from Damon, so he finally glanced up, chin still tucked. The blond was gazing at him, a hand over his mouth in a natural sort of way, but his eyes were more wet than usual.

"Are you crying?" Graham said in a half-whisper, stopping his shuffling about to look closer at his friend. Damon sniffed, dropping his head to run his fingers through his hair, shaking his head. "Fuck off," the blond murmured through a hidden smile.  
"Look, we're not that old yet, Daymun," Graham said with a chuckle. "Besides, we promised to include each other in anything music related so... No goodbyes any time soon, I don't think. You're alright." The brunet folded up the drawing, and took Damon's hand, turning it palmside up as he patted the drawing down into it. "Here, you keep it. Christ, you're goin' t'make me all emotional now," Graham nearly whined it, but was smiling, nose wrinkled.   
"Oh, come here," Damon huffed, clicking his tongue like a sympathetic mother, offering his arms up for a hug. The two friends both leaned in at the same time, Graham locking his arms around Damon's broad torso, as the blond put his weight onto him. Their hugs were always so warm, intimate enough for each of them to feel the other's heart beat against theirs. When at last they separated from the hug, Damon gave one of his most comforting smiles, patting Graham's shoulder. "You're a good kid, Grah. Don't let anyone tell you your not worth it, 'cos you are." He paused, looking into each of those deep, doe brown eyes.

"You're worth everyfin'."


End file.
